The Prestige

The house had been a family home, with several servants, until the outbreak of the Second World War. The Ministry of Defence had then requisitioned most of the building, using it as regional headquarters for RAF Transport Command. At this point her family had moved into the east wing, which anyway had always been the favoured part of the house. When the RAF left after the war the house was taken over by Derbyshire County Council as offices, and the present tenants (her phrase) arrived in 1980. She said her parents had been worried at first by the prospect of an American religious sect moving in, because of what you heard about some of them, but by this time the family needed the money and it had worked out well. The Church kept its teaching quiet, the members were polite and charming to meet, and these days neither she nor the villagers were concerned about what they might or might not be up to.

As by this point in the conversation we had finished our meal, and Mrs Makin had brought us some coffee, I said, "So I take it the story that brought me up here, about a bilocating priest, was false?"

"Yes and no. The cult makes no secret of the fact it bases its teaching on the words of its leader. Father Franklin is a stigmatic, and he's supposed to be able to bilocate, but he's never been seen doing it by independent witnesses, or at least not under controlled circumstances."

"But was it true?"

"I'm really not sure. There was a local doctor involved this time, and for some reason she said something to a tabloid newspaper, who ran a potted version of the story. I only heard about it when I was in the village the other day. I can't see how it can have been true: their leader's in prison in America, isn't he?"

"But if the incident really happened, that would make it more interesting."

"It makes it more likely to be a fraud. How does Doctor Ellis know what this man looks like, for instance? There's only the word of one of the members to go on."

"You made it out to be a genuine story."

"I told you I wanted to meet you. And the fact that the man goes in for bilocation was too good to be true."

She laughed in the way people do when they say something they expect others to find amusing. I hadn't the faintest idea what she was talking about.

"Couldn't you have just telephoned the newspaper?" I said. "Or written a letter to me?"

"Yes I could… but I wasn't sure you were who I thought you were. I wanted to meet you first."

"I don't see why you thought a bilocating religious fanatic had anything to do with me."

"It was just a coincidence. You know, the controversy about the illusion, and all that." Again, she looked at me expectantly.

"Who did you think I was?"

"The son of Clive Borden. Isn't that right?"

She tried to hold my gaze but her eyes, irresistibly, turned away again. Her nervous, evasive manner put tension between us, when nothing else was happening to create it. Remains of lunch lay on the table between us.

"A man called Clive Borden was my natural father," I said. "But I was adopted when I was three."

"Well then. I was right about you. We met once before, many years ago, when we were both children. Your name was Nicky then."

"I don't remember," I said. "I would have been only a toddler. Where did this meeting take place?"

"Here, in this house. You really don't remember it?"

"Not at all."

"Do you have any other memories from when you were that age?" she said.

"Only fragments. But none about this place. It's the sort of house that would make an impression on a child, isn't it?"

"All right. You're not the first to say that. My sister… she hates this house, and couldn't wait to move away." She reached behind her, where a small bell rested on a counter, and dinged it twice. "I usually take a drink after lunch. Would you care to join me?"

"Yes, thank you."

Mrs Makin soon appeared, and Lady Katherine stood up.

"Mr Westley and I will be in the drawing room this afternoon, Mrs Makin."

As we went up the broad staircase I felt an impulse to escape from her, to get away from this house. She knew more about me than I knew myself, but it was knowledge of a part of my life in which I had no interest. This was obviously a day when I had to become a Borden again, whether or not I wished to do so. First there was the book by him, now this. It was all connected, but I felt her intrigues were not mine. Why should I care about the man, the family, who had turned their back on me?

She led me into the room where I had first met her, and closed the door decisively behind us. It was almost as if she had felt my wish to escape, and wanted to detain me as long as she could. A silver tray with a number of bottles, glasses and a bucket of ice had been placed on a low table set between a number of easy chairs and a long settee. One of the glasses already held a large drink, presumably prepared by Mrs Makin. Kate indicated I should take a seat, then said, "What would you like?"